


Give Me Love

by nimona



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bikers, F/M, Gangs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-19 11:32:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4744763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimona/pseuds/nimona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the day of Ned and Catelyns funeral, and Sandor pays Sansa a visit. // AU Inspired by watching far too much Sons of Anarchy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing this for a while, but only just got around to posting it. Dunno where this is going, or how long it will be, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

He parks his bike on the street, ignoring the annoyed looks the revving engine has gotten him. He's used to the stares: first they were for his face, now it's his reputation. He supposes one or the other will always precede him, but the thought doesn't bother him much anymore.

The service has already started when he approaches the crowd, the last of the attendants filing into seats slowly. He can see her chirping pleasantries at the guests. Even in the wake of tragedy she is strangely polite and composed, only her red rimmed eyes giving her away.  _Strong _. The word nags at the back of his mind, before he pushes it away. He wonders vaguely if she would be happy that he’s here or not. He guesses no, considering how he left her the last time they were together. He was broken then, and he hopes that she realizes that. Even so.. It’s a long shot that she will want him here.. For all he knows, she could think that he was the one to pull the trigger.__

__He rubs calloused hands over his face, brushing back the hair that has fallen over his eyes. He looks a fucking mess, and he knows it. He can’t remember the last time his face has seen a razor, or a shower. He’s sure that if he looks hard enough he can find blood stains on his clothes, though it’s not her parents blood and that’s all that matters. Or so he hopes._ _

__Once everyone has sat down he wanders towards the back of the service, standing a ways back, but close enough so that he can hear. The preacher's voice is like nails on a chalkboard, talking about the good people the Starks were. Sandor has to resist the urge to snort - like being a good person ever gotten anyone anywhere. It’s bullshit and he knows it, but he can see her taking comfort in his words, so he doesn’t do anything, just stands and watches._ _

__The service seems to stretch on forever, hot sun beating down on his back. He wonders if he should take off the thick leather jacket that bares the Lannister gang mark on it. It would put her more at ease, he knows this, so resignedly he tears it off and slings it over his motorcycle.  When it’s over he watches carefully as everyone grabs a handful of dirt and places it into the grave. Sansa is standing off to the side, along with her brothers. She looks exhausted and he wants to offer her some semblance of comfort, but he doesn’t know how so he settles on flicking his knife back and forth between his fingers, feigning boredom._ _

__Something draws her attention over and she spots him. He can see her visibly freeze, her eyes locking onto his. His heart beats faster but he wills it to stop because he’s the fucking Hound for gods sake, not a love sick puppy. For a moment he thinks she’s going to ignore him, walk away because fuck if he doesn’t deserve it. But instead she jerks her head to a nearby thatch of trees. He see’s her nudge Jon, and mumble something. He nods, and Sandor can see that he wants to comfort her as well, but she’s already gone._ _

__He hesitates for a moment, only because he doesn’t know what she wants with him and gods the last thing he wants right now is a fucking fight but he goes anyway. He’s never been able to resist Sansa Stark. Gods help him if anyone finds that out. With a glance over his shoulder he weaves his way through cracked marble graves. He can feel all of the Stark's eyes glaring holes into the back of his head, but he chooses to ignore it for now, her pull is too strong and he doesn't know what he would do if he came face to face with the Stark brothers. Though he'd never admit it , he is so damn _tired _of fighting.___ _

____She is waiting for him, tucked behind a willow tree. He thinks she looks smaller, like a child dressed in grown up clothes, but maybe that’s just because she’s so fucking tiny now. _She must of lost weight _.. He reflects, but doesn’t linger on it long.___ _ _ _

______“Little bird..” His voice is rough, and he hates the sound of it here in all this silence and death._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Did you do it?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Sansa-”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I’m not fucking stupid Sandor. Did you do it?” Her voice is rough, like sandpaper, like she’d done nothing but screamed for hours. And maybe she had._ _ _ _ _ _

______“No. It was Meryn Trant. Didn’t know it was happening till it was done.” He’s pulling his fingers through his hair, wondering if she really cared who it was. She knew who was behind it all, and that’s all that really matters._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Fuck. Fuck, Fuck, FUCK.” She is crouching with her elbows on her knees, head buried in her hands._ _ _ _ _ _

______“This wasn’t supposed to happen. We were supposed to get out of Kings Landing, go back to Winterfell.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“I know.” For a moment they are both still - Sandor afraid to touch her, afraid she’d break under the weight of his touch, and Sansa too grief ridden to bother reaching out for him. The last time he had seen her she’d been nothing but a slip of a girl on the brink of womanhood. Sixteen was a tender age for her, and he’d offered to take her away. But he was a drunken asshole then, and now.. He isn’t sure what he is now, but at least there’s sobriety. He wonders if it counts for anything._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I’m sorry about before. You know..”_ _ _ _ _ _

______She rises and looks him square in the eye. “You still drinking?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______He digs in his pocket and fishes out a coin. “Five years sober. As of yesterday.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______She gives him a small smile, and it’s like bright hot heat has melted away all the darkness in his head. “That’s really great Sandor.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______He grunts in response, but he knows that she’s happy about it and it helps to  ease the ache in his chest. “So now what?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Now I’m going home.” She sighs, “I’m so exhausted. Funerals are exhausting.” He nods, not that he would know. He never went to his fathers or his mothers._ _ _ _ _ _

______"When's the reception?" He asks._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Couple hours."_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Want a ride?” She hesitates, chewing on a pretty pink lip. He can see they are swollen and cracked from being bitten, but it doesn’t stop him from imagining pressing his twisted mouth on them._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Okay.” She says finally. She trails along behind him, ignoring the side glances that she receives from the few people left behind. Sandor can tell that the minister wants to pull her aside, ask if she’s okay, but he only has to give him a look and the idea dies before it can ever come to fruition. For all the shit he gets in for being with the Lannisters, it does have perks._ _ _ _ _ _

______She is eyeing up his motorcycle critically. “I never liked those things. You do know that they’ll kill you if you crash, right?” Sandor almost rolls his eyes, because hell.. Motorcycle crashes were the last of his fucking concern._ _ _ _ _ _

______“It’s sweet you’re concerned for me Little Bird, but you ain’t got nothing to worry about.” Her cheeks turn bright pink, and she looks away before replying, “I’m worried for me, not you.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______He chuckles and it is rough and booming, like timber falling on deep rich soil. He kicks up the stand, and swings a leg over. “Well? You coming?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Sansa bites her lip again, before climbing on. She has to hike up her dress in order to be able to swing her leg over and Sandor says nothing, just quirks an eyebrow in her direction. She shoots him a glare, but it is light and forgiving. He can feel her wrap her arms tentatively around his waist, hands resting lightly on his belly. It makes parts of him harden that he doesn’t care to think about, so he revs the engine and speeds away._ _ _ _ _ _

______He would have thought that after all this time he’d have forgotten where she lives, but no, it’s still imprinted in his brain. He’d made many a trip to the Stark house, mostly escorting Sansa back and forth for Joffrey. He was only a prospect then, stuck with the shit job of driving around the Little Bird._ _ _ _ _ _

______She had been afraid of him then, eyes always pointing downward, mouth always spouting her pretty courtesies. It had been something that used to anger him , to the point of rage. Now she is different. Polite, but curt. She knows how to get what she wants from him, and most likely every other man she comes into contact with._ _ _ _ _ _

______It doesn't take them long to reach her house, her arms twined carefully around his waist, head bent against the wind. He wishes that he had a helmet to give her, suddenly feeling guilty for his recklessness. He never cared about his own safety, but hers.. Well that was a different story. The Stark house looms large over the other houses on the block, though it seems a bit darker on this day. Once he kills the engine Sansa releases him from her hold and climbs off, carefully pulling her dress down, and smoothing out the wrinkles._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Thanks Sandor.. For the ride." She is staring at him now, and he has to resist the urge to rub the scarred side of his face._ _ _ _ _ _

______"My pleasure Little Bird." He winks at her, and for a moment it is almost like it was before. He climbs on his bike, ready to take off, and then suddenly her hand is on his shoulder._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Do you know why? Why did he do it? To hurt me, or was there some other reason?" Her voice was cracking, and he can see her blinking hard against the tears that threaten to spill over._ _ _ _ _ _

______"It won't do you any good to know that, Little Bird." He aches to reach out and touch her. But he doesn't know how to comfort, or love for that matter. Foreign concepts to him, all he knows is death and destruction and how to give a good fuck._ _ _ _ _ _

______"What do you know about me? Or what I need? You left Sandor. You left me here, in this place. And then you crawl back to the Lannisters? What kind of shit is that?" Years of resentment pent up in her voice, and he doesn't know how to answer. He was drunk and afraid that night - fire always brings out the coward in him, and that night was no exception. The Lannisters were fighting, guns were shooting everywhere, and gods the entire fucking building was on fire. He fled to her asking her to leave with him, and she had said no. It broke a piece of him, and he left. For awhile he went nomad, with no charter, no allegiance. Eventually he went back to the Lannisters. The punishment for abandoning wasn't as severe as he thought it would be, and he's remained there ever since._ _ _ _ _ _

______"What was I supposed to do? huh? They had a fucking hit out on me. It was either go back to them, or die Sansa. And I'm not dying before I kill him." He spits, because anger is what he knows best._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Killing him won't solve anything, and you know it." Her eyes are burning, lighting his skin on fire all over again._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Fuck you." He spits. It's probably the meanest thing he's ever said to her, and he knows it too. Her eyes widen and then CRACK. It takes him a moment to realize she's struck him, palm open and flat against his good cheek._ _ _ _ _ _

______They both stare at each other, never breaking eye contact, daring the other to do something to push them over the edge. He could swear he feels the blood pulsing through her veins, rage making her chest heave and turn a blotchy red. Before he knows what he's doing, his mouth is pressed against hers, and there is nothing innocent about it. All he can feel is mashing lips and colliding tongues, her body pressed tight against his as his hands find there way to her waist._ _ _ _ _ _

______She pulls away and looks at him hard for a moment. "Wanna come inside?” Her voice is husky with want, and they both know what his answer will be, what his answer will always be when it comes to her._ _ _ _ _ _

______When she puts her small hand inside of his large one, lacing their fingers together and preparing to lead him inside, he knows once and for all that he is royally screwed._ _ _ _ _ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW. Thankyou all SO much for all the reviews. It motivated me to spit out this chapter. I'm still not completely happy with it, mostly because I think I like writing Sandor better then Sansa. Anyway I hope you enjoy xx

“Wanna come inside?” The words are out of Sansa's mouth before she can pull them back in and she is almost so lost in surprise at herself that she doesn't notice him nodding in response. She takes his hand, always aware of the warmth that seems to constantly radiate from him, and leads him inside.

Hyperaware of her body, she feels alight with need, her every muscle tense with how much she wants him. She unlocks the door and he closes it behind them, careful to click the lock into place, and then it's the two of them. She is acutely aware of the silence, of the way his eyes are watching her like she might break into a million pieces at any moment. She hates it so much she think she might scream, so she kisses him again, pushing her grief down until it's a bearable dark hole in the pit of her stomach. 

He gently pushes her against the door, his hands resting on her hips, never breaking away for a moment. Sansa realizes, somewhere in the back of her mind, that he has done this before. It hurts for a moment, before she banishes that thought as well. He doesn't belong to me, and he never will. She focuses on the feel of his hands on her hips, the way the heat seems to radiate from his fingertips to her hips, and then everywhere else. She is kissing him hungrily now, the way a lost man in the desert searches for water, so desperately that it hurts.

She can feel him against her, his need pressed up against her stomach. “Are you sure you want this little bird?” His voice is deeper then it has ever been, dark with a lust that twists her stomach. 

“Yes.” She whimpers when he jerks his hips into her. His mouth leaves hers and begins pressing open mouthed kisses on her neck, his hot breath making her shiver. Desperate for more, she takes his hands and presses them to her breasts, moaning when he rubs his thumb over her hardened nipples. He grabs her legs and pulls them up so that her center is directly on top of his cock. She can't help but grind herself against him, eliciting a groan. “We need.. To go upstairs.” She manages to moan out, and she can feel him nod against her neck. 

They make their way upstairs, a frenzy of kissing and desperate fingers clawing at each other, the need to get as close as possible almost unbearable. When they reach Sansa's bedroom Sandor pauses, and she watches him carefully as he takes in her room. The pale pink walls, pinned with pictures of her friends, her family.. She focuses hard on keeping her face straight, refusing to cry, because strong girls don't cry. 

“Sansa I..” He begins, but she doesn't let him finish. She pushes him onto the bed and climbs on top of him, enjoying his distraction. 

“Please Sandor.. Please make me forget.. Just for a little while.” She looks into his eyes and for once there is no anger, nothing broken, just pity and she knows that its pity for her. She wants to scream at him to stop, because she doesn't need his pity. She needs revenge, and a way to forget. He props himself up on his arms and rubs the scarred side of his face with his hands, before sitting up to unzip her dress. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She mumbles into the crook of his neck, but she thinks that he doesn't hear her because his eyes are heavy lidded and trained on her breasts. Sitting in his lap , with her legs crossed behind him, she feels strange. Wondering if she is supposed to be feeling self conscious she reaches between them and strokes the hardness between his legs. It is thick and twitches when she touches it, and she can feel how badly he wants her. It makes her feel heady with power.

“Gods Sansa.” And then he has his head bent to her nipple, suckling on them and it's all Sansa can do not to burst into flames. She can feel the heat pooling between her legs, her need suddenly becoming very focused, hips grinding against him unconsciously. She takes the hem of his shirt and lifts it up over his head and places a kiss on his collarbone. Kissing her way down his chest, she notices how muscular he is, and the way he tenses when she places her lips near his nipple. She grins up at him, before shifting her weight and climbing off of him and the bed, to rest between his legs. As she tries to unbuckle his belt she realizes her fingers are shaking.

“Sansa stop.” His voice sounds pained, maybe from effort of stopping this - whatever this happened to be. 

His hands are warm when he places them on top of hers and puts them by her side. “Just stop little bird.”

“I just.. I need..” Eyes welling up again, Sansa wipes them away angrily. “I'm so tired of being sad. I've been sad for two damn weeks. I wanted to feel something again. Anything.” 

He nods absently, eyebrows knotted together. “I know.” Hesitantly he stretches his hand out and wipes away a tear. She can feel her heart constrict in her chest, it was too tender of a moment coming from him. All he had ever shown her was tough love, and now this tenderness.. It was almost to much for her to bear. 

Outside the sound of tires rolling over asphalt can be heard and Sansa freezes. “Shit!” Sandor is immediately up and on his feet, pulling his shirt over his head. He hands Sansa her dress, “Come on little bird. Looks like your brothers are home.” She nods mutely, not wanting to stay, but not ready to meet the faces of her brother – she knows what this will look like. 

Quickly she pulls her dress up, and Sandor silently zips it up, just as Robb, Bran and Rickon open the front door. “Sansa? Are you home?” She can hear the hesitation in Robb's voice, she knows that he knows Sandor is here. 

“Yes Rob we're here.” Sansa makes sure to put emphasis on the we, letting Rob know his suspicions are true.

She leads the way down the stairs, Sandor trailing behind her. She almost laughs when she realizes how much it reminds her of before – back when she was still dating Joffrey, back when she still had her parents.. Back when Sandor was still in her life.

Immediately disapproval is written all over Robs face. Sansa flinches when she is faced with it, unable to take the thought of losing another member of her family. Brann kept his face carefully blank, and she's thankful for it. Rickon, however, stares up at him in shock, looking blatantly at the burned part of his face.

“Woah! What happened to your face?” He asks with childlike bluntness. Sansa sends him a glare, and Robb smacks the back of his head lightly. “Rickon..” He warns. 

None of them were prepared for Sandor, who bent down, face stoic as ever, and stares at Rickon. “You really want to know what happened to my face?” Rickon nods raptly, not having nearly enough sense to be afraid.

“Dragons.” Sansa almost chokes when he says this, sure that heard him wrong. Rickon let out a wild giggle, “You're lying!” He shouts, although his face held a strange hopefulness.

“Nope. Tried to fight one, and the bugger burned my face half off.” He gives Rickon a grin, making his face twist, and Rickon delighted in it. Sansa couldn't help but let a smile grace her face. It was a side to Sandor she had never seen before, and it made something in her chest constrict painfully. 

“Go on upstairs and play Rickon. You too Brann.” Rob said, eyeing Sandor with a look that Sansa couldn't quite figure out. “So,” he said once Rickon had disappeared. “One of you care to tell me what the hell's going on here.” 

“It's nothing Robb. I needed a ride home, and Sandor offered to give me one.” Sansa desperately hoped that her brother wouldn't make this into a scene. She is so damn tired, the last thing she needs right now is a fight. 

“So the fact that he was in your room is just a coincidence?” Sansa balks at this, unsure what she could tell him. 

“I just.. Needed a friend.” Sansa's voice cracks at the word friend, and she see's Robbs eyes soften and knows that they are safe. At least for now.

“He's not a friend Sansa. You should know this.”

“I should get going anyway. Got shit to do.” Sandors voice is rough and irritated. She supposes he doesn't like being talked about like he isn't there. She doesn't blame him in the least.

“You won't stay for the wake?” She asks, not sure if she wants him to stay or go. 

“It's not a good idea Little Bird.” His hand is reaching for his face again, rubbing the scruff that grew on the good side of his face. 

“Sansa, you know who he is and who he works for. For all we know he could have been the one..” Rob trails off, the unspoken accusation hanging heavily in the awkward silence.

“It wasn't him.” It's the one thing Sansa is sure of, in all of this mess. 

“I don't need defending.” Sandor snarls, although she knows his anger isn't really directed at her.

“I'm sure you don't Hound.” Robbs voice is full of arrogance and when he spits the word Hound he reminds her so clearly of her father that her chest turns to ice. 

“Robb he's staying. Wether you like it or not.” Robb throws his arms up, shakes his head and walks away.

“He'll forgive you. It's me he's upset with anyway.” 

“Why would he be upset with you?” 

Sandor doesn't reply to this, it only makes her worry even more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally just finished writing this, but you guys have been so amazing with all the reviews that I'm gunna post it anyway. You all don't know how much it means to me that so many of you like this story! Let me know if you find any thing that needs to be edited & I'll fix it asap. Enjoy! xx

Sandor can't believe he's at a fucking wake, of all things. Only Sansa could drag him to something as ridiculous – especially considering it's for Ned and Catelyn Stark, who couldn't stand him when they were alive, never mind dead. Not that it mattered anyway, the dead don't care about ceremonies or niceties or the living. He feels distinctly out of place, like a piece of garbage on an other wise spotless lawn, and it only makes him all the more irritated. He lost Sansa over twenty minutes ago, her time now devoted to making other people feel better about her own parents death. 

Ridiculous. The whole fucking thing.

Sandor pushes past people, ignoring once again their looks of disapproval. He can't figure out if it's for his face, or his lack of 'proper clothing'. Either way it makes him scowl and the moment he reaches the balcony he pulls out a smoke and lights it. It's mostly empty, only a couple of kids on the other end making out. Sandor almost lets out a laugh. He doesn't know what the fuck he's doing here, why he's even bothering with Sansa. Knowing that she only wanted to screw him as a way to forget, made a painful lump form in his throat. 

He suspected as much, but to hear it said out loud.. He brings the smoke to his lips and breathes in deeply, before blowing out a puff of grey smoke. _Gods._ He thinks. _I really am fucked._

He hears her come up behind him, arms wrapped around her tiny frame. “What are you doing out here little bird? It's cold.”

“Oh. I was looking for you.” She looks down at her feet. “I needed a break from all that.” 

He nods in understanding – he could relate to needing to get away from people. It is, after all, what he spent most of his life doing. Always running from one thing or the other – be it people or his brother.. She comes to stand beside him, her arms resting on the railing. He is nervous, though he can't place why. Bringing the smoke up to his lips again, draws in and then offers it to her. She stares at him for a moment, and then takes it and inhales. He watches as she struggles to keep from coughing, and then finally gives up sputtering smoke everywhere. 

He can't help but laugh at her. “Gods that's awful. How can you smoke that shit?” She asks him, looking only a little embarrassed. 

“Second time is smoother. Go on.” He nods at her, and she inhales again, this time managing not to cough. They stand for a minute, just passing the smoke back and forth, listening to the murmur of conversation from inside the house. 

“Thank you.” She says suddenly.

“For what?” 

“I don't know. Staying, I guess. And everything else.” When he turns to look at her, she is staring at him like he makes everything right in her world, and it's so good it's almost painful. She places a gentle kiss on the scared side of his face, and its then that he pulls her close and kisses her. He tries to let her know all the things he can't tell her in their kiss, but he doesn't know if its working because her arms are wrapping around his neck again. Her body is pressed tight against his and it makes his mind go blissfully blank.

“What the fuck?! What the hell is going on?” Robb Starks voice rings clear, and loud. It's full of rage, and Sandor already knows that there'll be a fight tonight, whether he wants it or not.

“What does it look like Stark?” He can't help but respond with anger, its second nature to him. Sansa is beside him shaking, though he can't tell if its from cold or nerves.

“Robb please stop.” Her voice is small, like she's on the verge of tears.

“You don't even know do you Sansa? He knew! He knew what they were planning and he didn't do anything. How can you kiss the man who let our parents be killed?!” Robb's voice is near shouting now, and Sandor feels like his whole world is collapsing. Out of the corner of his eye he can see people outside peering through the doors, trying to see what's going on.

“What? What are you talking about?” Sansa is looking at him, desperate for him to correct Robb. “Sandor.. Please tell me he's wrong. You said you didn't know..” Her voice is cracking, eyes full of tears.

“Gods Sansa.. I only heard them talk about it once.. In passing. I never knew they were gunna do it so soon. Fuck I'm so sorry.” The words are tumbling out of his mouth, but he knows that they won't make a difference.

“You lied to me! Gods I'm such an idiot. Fuck.” Sansa is folding in on herself, sobs no longer contained in the tightness of her throat. Sandor can feel whatever that's left of his heart breaking for her. And maybe for him too, because he's lost the only thing he's ever truly cared about.

Robb moves to comfort her, but she pushes him away. “You lied to me too. You knew about this and you never fucking told me. You're all liars and I never want to see you again. Either of you.” She is looking at him now – actually it's more like she's staring through him like he's not there, like he's invisible, not even worth of her glance.

She pushes past them, past the doors and all the people crowded around them, staring out to see what all the commotion is about. “You happy now Stark? Huh? You just had to fucking tell her.” Sandor is all rage now, his sadness pushed away until all he has left is anger.

“I won't lie to my sister, Hound.” He spits the word out of his mouth like it's poison.

“You goddamn Starks and your honour. Now she truly does have no one. Fucking moron.” Robb's fist strikes the unburned side of his face, and Sandor immediately returns the blow with one of his own. He's not sure who eventually grabs him and pulls him off of the eldest Stark. Both of their faces are covered in blood and Sandor was almost positive he had lost a tooth. In the end he was thrown out, a perfectly broken mess laying on the lawn. 

He pushes himself up and spits out a mouthful of blood. _Fucking Starks._ He thinks, over and over as he stumbles to his bike. Kicking up the stand he takes off – once again running from his problems. He manages to reach the Lannisters club in record time, not stopping for anything – not people, not red lights. Nothing. He is reckless with loss, almost heady with it. It's strange how different one turns when there's nothing to lose. 

He parks his bike outside the door, pushing the door open and sits down at the bar. There's not very many of them there, most likely out on a drug run and he thinks that's probably for the best. The less questions he's asked the better. “Whiskey. Leave the bottle.” He tells the bartender, who only gives him a quick look before setting a glass and the bottle in front of him. 

“Jesus Sandor. What the fuck happened to you?” The voice belongs to Bronn, the closest person Sandor has to a friend.

“Fuck off.” He pours the whiskey into the glass, and downs it in one go. Bronn stares at him and the alcohol and shakes his head.

“5 years sober and your gunna blow it just like that? Fuck man.” He scoffs and walks away, leaving Sandor to drink away his misery.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever and I'm sorry. Thankyou to all the lovely people who left me reviews. This chapter is for you. Also there are a two sentences in this that were inspired/taken from the movie Remember Me. Not anything big, but I figured I'd put a little disclaimer here anyway. Hope you all enjoy.

She hates them both so damn much. She is pulling clothes out of her dresser and shoving them into a duffel bag. Her life that lately had made so little sense was only just starting to realign its self, when Sandor knocks it out of orbit all over again. She doesn't know if she wants to scream or cry, and instead she does neither, settling on packing in grim silence. When she slams the door to her bedroom behind her she doesn't stop for anyone – not for the shouting between Robb and Sandor, not for Bran calling out her name, not for anything, not until she's halfway down the block, fingers already dialing Margaery's number.

“Hey Sansa.” Her voice is clear like water, smooth and lilting. 

“Hey Marg.. I've got a favor to ask.” 

“Ah. I take it you're not still mad at me for not coming to the funeral.” 

Sansa shakes her head, and then remembers she's on the phone. “No, that doesn't matter anymore. Look I need a place to stay for a few days.”

“No problem. Need me to pick you up?” 

Ten minutes later Margaery is pulling up in her tiny silver car, a smile on her face that wavers when she see's Sansa's face. “Oh gods. What the hell happened?” She asks when Sansa opens the door. Sansa doesn't answer right away, taking a moment to throw her duffel bag in the back.

Once she sits in the passenger seat, she lets her head rest in her hands. The world seemed to just be too damn much to handle today. “I'll tell you later. Let's just go.” 

They drive back in relative silence, Margaery throwing Sansa concerned glances every few minutes. It makes Sansa want to crawl out of her skin, but she doesn't say anything, afraid that if she opens her mouth all the hurt and anger and pain will crawl out letting the world know what an absolute mess she is inside.

Margaery's place is a tiny condo in the more upscale part of town. Sansa remembers fondly on the sleepovers her and Margaery used to have there when Sansa was still dating Joffrey, but it has been a long time now, and the thought of being there fills her with dread. They pull into underground parking, the dim lighting making everything glow orange.

They sit in the car for a moment, before Sansa speaks. “It was Sandor. He knew what was going to happen and never told me.” 

“And that surprises you?” Margaery's delicate eyebrows arch upwards at her. 

“He is rough, and cruel sometimes.. But he cares for me, in his own way. Or at least I thought he did.” Sansa bites her lip until it bleeds, and Margaery says nothing, just leads her inside.

“Is it okay that I'm here?” Sansa asks once she's settled on the couch, beside Margaery, a blanket draped around her shoulder and a glass of wine in her hands.

“Joff is out of town. I wouldn't worry about it much. He hardly comes around here anymore anyway.” Sansa couldn't bring herself to do anything but nod in mild relief.   
“Go to sleep Sansa. It'll look better in the morning.” Margaery lays a hand on her shoulder and squeezes before getting up and disappearing into her room. Sansa gulps the rest of her wine, and pulls the blankets around her. She falls asleep and dreams of her mother and father and a family that isn't broken.

The next few days pass by slowly, Sansa spends most of it dodging calls from Robb and drinking wine. One night she walked to the conveinecen store and bought a pack of smokes, smoking them one by one outside in the dark. The hurt and anger she held for Sandor lessened, morphing from a raging storm to a light fall. 

“What could he have done Sansa?” Margaery asks her one night. “Joff didn't just his plan to anyone and if he had warned you Joff would've known.”

Sansa didn't have a response to that, and she still doesn't. Sansa knew deep down that she was right, but it hurt to admit it. It was another thing in her life that couldn't change, and no one else could either.

She woke the next morning feeling a bit better, like something had been laid to rest inside of her but the feeling is short lived. She sighs when her phone begins to beep – again. Robb had tried phoning her several times, but this time when she looks at the number it's one that she doesn't recognize. She flips it open and presses talk. 

“Hello?” She hopes her voice doesn't sound like she was crying.

“Hey, it's um.. It's me..” The voice sounds vaguely familiar though she can't quite place it. “Bronn.” The silence looms large, and she knows he is wondering if she hung up. She knows very well that Bronn was a close friend of Sandors – at least as close to a friend as he could get. She feels anger well up inside of her, a frothing pit in her stomach. How dare he get someone else to phone her, to try to get her to forgive him. 

“You tell Sandor that if he has something to say to me then he can damn well-”

“Look. I know what he did. I know and I'm sorry and – I.. I really am. Fuck I suck at this.” There's a pause and he sighs. “He's drinking again.” For the first time Sansa notices how tired he sounds. She feels a pang of guilt for a split second, but pushes it down. 

“He's drinking? But I thought..”

“Yeah. He was sober. Five goddamn years, and it's all gone to shit. It was hard enough to get him sober the first time. Dunno how the fuck I'll manage it this time.”

Sansa doesn't answer for a moment, just chews on the inside of her cheek. “Why should I care?” 

“Look Sansa. You're pissed and hurt and I get it. I really do. Just.. Please come see him. You don't have to forgive him tonight, or tomorrow, or a year from now. But just.. Forgive him.” 

“Fuck.” She swears. She's angry at herself for feeling bad for him, angry for herself for caring and even more angry at the fact that he's put her in this position at all. For a moment she entertains the thought of hanging up, and staying out of all this. She knows that her heart would be better off, but the thought makes a strange feeling well up in her chest, something akin to panic. Finally she says, “Fine. Where is he?”

When Bronn tells her the address she immediately hangs up. “Margaery I need your keys.”

“Gods Sansa, don't tell me you're going to see him.” Margaery is looking at her with something close to pity and Sansa wants to smash something.

“Bronn said he's drinking again.” Her voice is even and steady. She refuses to give anything away. 

“I'm going with you. If he tries pulling any bullshit on you, then I'll kick his ass.” 

“Marg your 115 pounds. Tops.” Margaery only rolls her eyes and grabs her keys. “It's the thought that counts. Come on, I'll drive.”

They drive in silence, only the hum of the car engine as Sansa's distraction. She wonders what sort of a state Sandor will be in, almost unbelieving that he would completely sabotage his sobriety over her – not that he didn't deserve to feel like shit about what he did. She wonders absently what she'll say to him. She's not sure why she even agreed to go in the first place – her anger, though now dissolved, left a bitter taste in her mouth, and she isn't sure why she trusted Sandor in the first place. Or why it hurt so much when she found out what he did. He shouldn't mean anything to her, and yet.. There is a tender place in her heart for him, like a fresh bruise, and she wonders how much longer she can go with her finger pressed to it, before she's forced to deal with the situation at hand. She supposes now she'll find out.

When they reach the bar Sansa realizes that hardly anything has changed. The same sleazy sign hangs off the front of the building, looking like the slightest bit of wind might blow it off. It dawns on her that it's probably unsafe for her to be here, but the thought doesn't bother her much. Or at least not as much as it should. She lets Margaery lead the way, taking comfort and strength in her small friend. Inside the place is mostly abandoned, save for a few scantily clad women. After spending so much time here with Joffrey when she was younger, she finds it hard to be bothered by it. 

It only takes a moment for Sansa to spot him, slumped over at the bar. She glances at Margaery, and tries to read the look on her face, but her friend is an expert at remaining impenetrable so she looks back at him. It's more painful then she imagined, seeing him again. She can feel her chest tighten. A hand reaches out and gently touches her shoulder. She turns around and Bronn is there. “You should talk to him. Just for a minute. He really is sorry you know.” She nods and leaves them both standing there.

She approaches Sandor carefully, afraid that any sudden movement might make him disappear. “Sandor?” She hates herself for how her voice trembles.

“What're you doin' here?” His words are slurred but she can make them out, realizing that under all the drunkenness he's surprised to see her here. It dawns on her that he didn't ask Bronn to phone her, and a part of her softens.

“Bronn called me. Said you were drinking again.” Her voice is not soft but isn't hard either. 

“Fucker. I told him not to call you. I didn't think you'd care. Not after what I did.” He reaches up and takes a drink from the glass before offering it to her with a grin and wink. “Care to share another one of my bad habits?” Sansa hesitates and then takes the glass, downing the rest of the drink -whiskey she thinks – and secretly congratulates herself on not choking on it.

“Good little bird. I'll ruin you yet.” And he dissolves into drunk laughter.

“Come on Clegane. I'm taking you home.” Her voice is hard this time, the words forcing their way out of her clenched teeth, because damn if she didn't want to kiss the hurt out of him. 

Damn.

She lifts one of his arms and pulls it over her shoulder, and Bronn is immediately beside them, hauling his other arm under Sandors. When they reach the parking lot and finally get his large frame in the back seat of Margaery's tiny car, Sansa stops and stares at him for a moment. His hair is a mess, tangled and matted in front of his face. He stirs in his sleep, and she can hear him mumbling something that sounds strangely like 'don't leave me' but then Margaery is ushering her into the front seat of the car, and Bronn is following behind them on his bike and she tries to convince herself that he didn't say anything at all.

It takes ten minutes to get to Sandors place, a small apartment in a not so great part of town. In the distance she can hear people yelling and shouting, and children whooping in the distance. It's only a minute later and Bronn pulls up beside them. He opens the door and fishes Sandors keys out of his pocket, before hauling him up and out of the car. Sansa helps drag him inside the building and up to the elevator, and thankfully he stays asleep for it. Sansa can feel Bronns eyes peering at her as the elevator hums and creaks beneath them.

“Sansa..”

“Don't. Just don't.” 

They don't talk for the rest of the ride up. Sansa feels Sandors weight against her and it's torture. His presence next to her, even when he reeks of alcohol and sweat, still did something to her that she didn't quite understand. There was something about him, so masculine and feral, and it drew her to him like a moth to flame. She supposes that it was some sort of warning, but she couldn't help it. He was a car wreck, but then again so was she. She shakes her head and the elevator stops and they haul Sandor out, dragging him across the floor and into a dingy unit. Sansa wondered why he left the door unlocked but once inside his apartment it was clear – even if someone had broken in there was nothing to steal. In the living room, there was only a small couch and each pressed against opposite walls. In the adjoining kitchen, there were only appliances and small table. Sansa bit her lip, and wondered what he must have thought of her house and its extravagance.

Once in Sandors room they put him in bed – nothing but a mattress piled with blankets and pillows. 

“Someone will have to stay here with him. And i've got to be back at the club early tomorrow. But I can call someone to stay if..” 

Sansa shakes her head. “I'll do it.” Bronn stares at her for a moment, a steady gaze that seems to say things that she isn't quite ready to admit to herself yet. Finally he nods, gives her a small smile and turns to leave. 

“I'll be back at some point tomorrow to check in with him and I can give you a ride back to Marg's then.” A moment later she hears the door shut behind him, and she is alone with Sandor Clegane.


End file.
